Let Slip the Dogs of War
by robokatherine
Summary: A year and a half after the battle at Meridian, Sara Ryder's investigation into the Benefactor is interrupted by an old flame who needs her help investigating a string of kidnappings on Kadara.


It took almost no time at all for the Tempest and her crew to settle into our new routine after Meridian. We'd spent the last year and a half traveling from planet to planet, handling colonial affairs from public appearances, to aiding in research on the Kett or the Remnant or the Scourge, to breaking up the occasional encounter with the Roekaar and other unfriendly factions. Things were relatively tame compared to running around activating Remnant vaults and hunting the Archon, but we were kept busy — someone somewhere always needed something.

So I shouldn't have been surprised when SAM derailed my train of thought.

"Pathfinder, Scott is looking for you," he said, only a half-second before someone — presumably my brother — knocked on the locked door to the tech lab.

I sighed and pushed away from my seat at the desk. As I padded across the room I rubbed my eyes, willing the low-grade headache that sat behind them to dissipate.

Scott shouldered his way past me the second I unlocked the door. He was bent over a datapad and already talking. I smiled a little and shut the door behind him.

"We got a transmission from Kadara. There have been widespread reports of— Woah," he said, stopping in his tracks and taking in the state of the lab. "The fuck?" He turned to look at me. "Every time I come in here I think it can't get worse and every time…" He shook his head a little and then wrinkled his nose. "And what is that smell?"

I understood his concern but couldn't help the spike of defensiveness that shot up my spine. It was true, the tech lab was a shambles: datapads of intel scattered across the desk and floor, walls and cabinets covered in my scribbled notes — paper was a luxury and it helped to have a physical map of my investigation laid out in front of me — but he knew as well as I did that this room was a necessary sacrifice for the matter at hand. Jien Garson had been murdered on her own station. Someone had to find the Benefactor, and it might as well be the person with a head full of memories about him. Or her. Whoever the fuck they may be.

I brushed his comment off with a forced laugh. "The price of a thorough investigation."

He shook his head again and made a small gesture towards the desk with his hands. "You'd… You'd tell me if I should be worried, right?"

"I'm fine," I insisted, though my voice didn't carry as much confidence as I'd wanted.

"You know, Gil and I can sleep in the crew bunks for a night or two if you want to sleep in a real bed— your real bed," he suggested. I could tell it took concerted effort on his part to not glance at the dingy pallet I'd set up in the corner of the lab.

I glared at him. "I'm fine," I repeated, enunciating the words more forcefully.

 _Drop it, Scott._

He regarded me for a long moment. I ducked my head, hoping he wouldn't notice the dark smudges that had sunken into the skin beneath my eyes over the past few sleepless nights.

"Fine," he said begrudgingly.

"You said something about Kadara?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. "New reports from Ditaeon?"

"Uh, n—not exactly," Scott replied, handing me the datapad awkwardly. "Reports of missing children from all over. The port, slums, and more than a dozen of the smaller homesteads."

"Missing children?" My brow furrowed. I scanned through the information on the datapad, but the message didn't contain much more information than Scott had already relayed. It had been one or two children from the rural areas, at first, but had exploded into a pattern of disappearances over the past month — twenty-six gone at the time the message was sent.

Scott shifted from foot to foot, looking from the datapad to me to my desk and back again.

"Kallo already set a course?" I asked.

He nodded. "We're about eighteen hours out."

"I'll let the folks on Voeld know they'll need another ragtag band of galactic heroes for their Founders Day celebrations. Tell the crew they can put away their party parkas," I said.

Scott snorted and grinned. "Vetra'll be happy."

"She's not alone there. Hell, I'd take stinking sulfuric puddles over Voeld any day." I handed the datapad back to him. "And give Christmas our ETA. I'm going to finish following some loose ends here." We both knew I wasn't planning on sleeping.

Scott rested the datapad against his hip and didn't move to leave, though he leaned towards the doorway like he desperately wanted to.

I frowned. "Is there a problem?"

He hesitated, grimacing. "Not so much a problem, per se."

I crossed my arms again and cocked a brow at him.

He groaned.

"It… It wasn't Christmas. It didn't come from Ditaeon."

"The report?" I asked.

Scott nodded. My stomach dropped, already knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

"It… It came from Keema Dohrgun."

"Keema Dohrgun," I echoed. I didn't notice that my hands were clenched into fists. "You mean it came from the Charlatan."

Scott nodded reluctantly. "Probably, yeah."

I chewed the inside of my cheek hard.

"Let Keema know we're coming, then. I'm sure she'll pass that information along to him," I said. Despite my effort to keep my voice light and unaffected, it came out leaden and terse.

Scott released a held breath, muttered an acknowledgement, and left the room so fast you'd think I'd chased him out with a knife.

The door shut again and I turned back to my desk, pinching the bridge of my nose.

The fucking Charlatan. I'd somehow managed to go seventeen months without hearing a single word about the bastard, and it had only been a matter of time before it happened, but the name still left me with a bitter taste stinging the back of my tongue. I could still see his face on Meridian, at the end of it all, winking at me as if he didn't know I wanted to strangle him to death.

Stupid, arrogant son of a bitch.

I tasted blood and realized I'd bitten my lip a little too hard.

I violently swept my hands across my desk, sending a wave of datapads clattering to the floor.

"Motherfucker," I hissed under my breath.

* * *

Those eighteen hours went by way too quickly.

I'd spent the majority of them battling internally, telling myself that we _had_ to go to Kadara, that missing children weren't something we could just _ignore_ , no matter how much I really, really, _really_ didn't want to go. Sure, we'd been to Kadara several times since Meridian, but I always made sure to beeline for Ditaeon, avoiding the Port and the slums and the Collective and the Charlatan. This time I wouldn't have that luxury.

I walked onto the bridge in full armor, clipping my shotgun to its holster on my hip and warming up my amp with some mnemonic exercises. I sent small waves of energy down my arms, running them between my fingers and then dissipating them in a steady rhythm. The tiny zaps of dark energy provided a small comfort.

"Ryder," Cora greeted me, standing up from her seat in the copilot's chair. Suvi had decided to stay on Meridian for the time being, using her big brain to help unravel its secrets, and the absence of her lilting voice was still weird.

Cora stood as stock-straight as ever. Kadara loomed in the windows behind her, red rocks and green pools caught in early morning starlight.

"We should be touching down in Kadara Port at around 08:15, local time," she said.

Kallo made a small annoyed sound — he hadn't been adjusting well to his new companion on the bridge. He claimed it was because she "took all the credit for his hard work" and was "prone to showboating," but I suspected it had more to do with Suvi's absence than Cora's presence. Poor kid. I let his angst slide for now. So did Cora.

"Vetra and Scott are kitted out and on their way up," she informed me. "And again, I'd be happy to accompany the three of you if you—"

I waved a hand, dismissing the suggestion. "We'll be fine, Cora. But thanks."

She nodded.

"Did you make any headway on your investigation?" she asked.

I sighed and shook my head. "More of the same, unfortunately. Still stuck."

"Maybe you could take a break? Step away from it for a week or two? It could help to clear your head," she suggested. Her tone was innocent enough, but something about her body language told me she had ulterior motives. Or had been compelled by someone else to make the suggestion.

I frowned.

"What did Scott tell you?" I asked.

"Nothing!" she replied, holding her hands up in front of her.

"He tattled on you!" Peebee shouted from her escape pod.

"Oh, did he now?" I feigned shock, maintaining eye contact with Cora who suddenly looked very guilty.

"Damn it, Peebs!" Scott admonished as he climbed a ladder from the lower deck. "We're never going to get her to unwind if we don't all stick to the plan."

I barked a laugh. "There's a plan? Sounds more like a mutiny, if you ask me."

"Ryder, you know we'd never," Vetra said, following Scott up the ladder.

"It's only a mutiny if we don't have your best interests at heart," Cora insisted.

There was a clatter of metal on metal as Peebee dropped whatever she was working on and tripped her way out onto the bridge to join us.

"She just needs a distraction, is all," Peebee said. "And what better place than Kadara? Rock climbing, gambling, hot springs? Ryder'll be fine, we'll get her relaxed and she'll forget all about this Benefactor stuff. At least for a little while. Y'know. So she doesn't keel over from the stress."

"Oh, yeah, good luck getting her to relax on _Kadara_ , of all places," Scott retorted. "We should just tell the Initiative we need some R&R time. Maybe go back to Eos — have you seen those trees they have growing there, now? Those almost-palm-tree-looking things? A beach vacation would get her mind off of things. Or it would at least get her into some water so she doesn't smell so—"

"Hey!" I interrupted. "I have a fun game we can all play: it's called 'Let's not talk about Sara like she's not here when she's standing three feet away from us,' and right now you're all losing. Except Kallo. You should all be more like Kallo."

"That's what I've been saying for years," Kallo muttered under his breath.

My omnitool pinged.

"Pathfinder, you have new email," SAM announced.

I flicked the message open and immediately regretted doing so.

—

 _To: Sara Ryder_

 _From: Reyes Vidal_

 _Good morning._

 _Keema tells me you've answered our call for help. Lucky us._

 _Meet me in the usual place, I'll give you the details._

—

I could almost hear his accent dripping over the words. I had the sudden urge to puke.

"Oooh, who's it from?" Peebee asked, scrambling to try to read the message. I closed my omnitool and grunted as she threw her arms up over my shoulders from behind.

"Look at her face," Vetra replied. "Three guesses and the first two don't count."

"I can't believe we have to work with him again, after what he did." Cora crossed her arms.

"Honestly, it kind of seems like Sara's holding a grudge at this point. What he did wasn't _that_ bad. It's not like he had a sniper shoot _Sara_ in the gut," Scott said.

I swallowed a barrage of insults.

"Yeah, well, you weren't there," Peebee pointed out. "And you also weren't bonking the Charla—"

I groaned loudly and shrugged out of Peebee's friendly chokehold.

"Kallo, please land this ship before I'm forced to crash it into the planet and kill all of you," I commanded loudly.

The pilot chuckled. "Absolutely, Pathfinder."

* * *

Vetra, Scott, and I made good time to the slums, even with Vetra stopping every few minutes to acknowledge one of her contacts.

Scott had only been down to the slums once before, and he couldn't seem to decide whether he was more distressed by the reek of the sulfuric water or the abject hopelessness that seeped out of the Oblivion users and destitute beggars who lined every alley, even this early in the morning.

I lead us up the familiar steps, trying not to think about the dozens of times I'd taken them at an excited sprint on my way to the same place we were approaching now.

Music blasted at full volume despite the fact that the bar was empty — only a few early morning drunks and unconscious stragglers from the night before sat at the bar.

I trudged towards the back room, struggling to pick one foot up and put it in front of the other as if I was knee-deep in mud. The music thrummed against my ribs, a slow base line rattling my skull in time with flashing colorful lights.

A Krogan bouncer sat on a stool next to the door.

"Charlatan's beefed up his security detail," Vetra observed as we approached.

" _Please_ don't mess with the very large Krogan fellow," Scott hissed at me. I ignored him.

"Pathfinder Ryder," the guard greeted.

I nodded curtly.

"Boss is expecting you. Alone." The Krogan's eyes shifted between Vetra and Scott.

I wondered if he knew he was guarding the Charlatan, or if he'd been kept in the dark as to the nature of his employer's importance on Kadara. Most mercs wouldn't ask many questions as long as they were paid, and he seemed that type. Probably for the best. Asking was dangerous.

I shrugged a shoulder. "I brought some friends. I get lonely."

"Your friends can wait outside."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Excuse me?"

The Krogan kicked his stool out from under himself and stood, craning his neck to stare down at me.

Scott made a small, strangled noise.

"You. Alone," the bouncer growled.

"That's not a good idea," Vetra warned. She stepped between myself and the Krogan. "You want us in there with her," she told him. "Trust me. She and your boss have… Differences. He would want us in there with her."

"Unless he's got a death wish," Scott mumbled.

I shot him a glare. He pulled a face at me.

"I have my orders," the bouncer said. "You two wait here."

I clenched my teeth.

Vetra sighed. "Listen, I know you're only doing what—"

"It's fine," I interrupted. I laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine. If the asshole wants see me alone, then that's what we'll do. I can handle myself." She looked at me questioningly, searching my face for a sign that I wasn't, in fact, fine. Her mandibles fluttered and she relented.

The Krogan moved aside and pounded his fist against the door. It opened. I entered.

The door slid shut behind me, cutting the music to a faint din abruptly.

The room hadn't changed. Same furniture, same lack of proper lighting, same dust motes hanging in the air, same smell — fragrant but stale, like a neglected spice rack.

I closed my eyes, savoring those final few seconds before—

"Ryder," he said.

Anger, raw and molten, flooded my chest.

I opened my eyes to find him lounging in his usual seat, an easy smile playing at his mouth. His hair was a little longer, some of it falling forward over his face. His eyes were the same. Pragmatic, golden, and somehow sharp and soft at the same time.

I wanted to gouge them out with my fucking fingernails.

"Pathfinder," I corrected.

He smirked. Smug son of a bitch. "Pathfinder. A sight for sore eyes, as always." He moved, standing and sidling across the room to where I stood rooted near the door.

"Don't make me shoot you," I retorted, painting a patronizing smile across my face and resting my hand against my shotgun. "Charlatan." I spat the word at his feet.

He winced at the sound of it.

"Let's hear it. Tell me about these missing kids," I demanded.

He forced a surprised expression. "What, you don't want to take a minute to catch up?"

I cocked a brow at him. "Why? You got some new bullshit that you're dying to share?" I wrapped my fingers around the grip of my weapon.

He chuckled and shook his head. "So you still haven't let that go. I expected as much."

I restrained the string of expletives that tried to spill past my teeth.

"Tell me about the missing kids, Charlatan," I repeated, frosting my tone with as much ice as I could muster.

He took a half-step closer to me and my skin buzzed as if I were standing beside an unshielded reactor.

"Please." He spoke gently. "Don't call me that. I hate codenames."

I hated that. I hated how easily he could parry my defenses and sidestep my rage. "That's not a good quality in a crime lord," I deadpanned.

He smiled again and swept his hair out of his face. "No, I suppose not."

I swallowed. This was going nowhere fast.

"Vidal," I said stiffly, his name tasting of rusted iron, "tell me."

He cleared his throat and rested his hands on his hips. He obviously wasn't pleased that I'd used his last name, but was also smart enough to know that I might actually hurt him if he pushed me any further.

"Twenty-eight gone, as of this morning. Most from the slums or the homesteads in the Badlands, but the bastards have been getting bold. Taking children from the Port itself."

He raised his omnitool and scrolled through a few files of information.

I nodded, relieved to finally be talking about business.

"Any patterns in the times and places?" I asked.

"We haven't found any. Some are taken in broad daylight, in public places. Others are taken from their beds while they sleep. But Ditaeon hasn't been affected."

"Any ideas why not?"

He paused, choosing his phrasing carefully. "We might all be back in the fold of the Initiative, now, but most of us still think like exiles. We don't take our problems to the Initiative, we handle them ourselves. Perhaps the responsible parties are exploiting our independence in order to keep their activity hidden from Initiative leadership for as long as possible."

I chewed my lip, thinking. Reye— Vidal was right. These bastards were bold.

The Initiative hadn't brought many kids on the arks, of course. Most of the human children in Andromeda were infants or barely toddlers. We didn't know much about how the environments of our new homes would impact fertility, pregnancy, or development. From what I'd heard, mortality and complication rates were fairly normal, but most people still had their reservations about trying to conceive in a new galaxy. Children were rare, they were a new development for humans in Andromeda, and these kidnappers had wasted no time getting to work on whatever it was they were doing.

My omnitool pinged.

"I sent you all the information we have on the disappearances."

"Great." I ground my teeth, more than ready to leave the room now that I had what I needed to do my job.

"I have an apartment in the slums that we can use as a base of operations."

I snorted in disbelief. " _We?_ What 'we'? There's no 'we' here. There's me and my crew."

"Your Initiative credentials might go a long way in Ditaeon, but you know they won't get you far in the Port or the Badlands. You need a man of the people if you're going to get anything out of the traders and homesteaders."

A thick gob of simmering rage blocked my throat. I stayed silent.

"And you need a place to lay low," he said. "If you dock the Tempest here too long the kidnappers will know something is unusual. It could spook them before we have the chance to find them."

I watched him closely as he invaded my personal space again. I tried not to think about the other times he and I had been alone in this room, but those memories were unrelenting and only splashed fuel on the wrath that pricked my fingers and gripped my gut.

"Besides," he continued, his voice lowering until it scraped against his throat like gravel, "I've missed you, Sara."

"Pathfinder," I corrected again. I despised the way my voice cracked.

I unholstered my shotgun and pressed the barrel firmly into Vidal's gut. He took a surprised step backwards and I followed, keeping pressure between the gun and his body.

"And just so we're perfectly fucking clear," I snarled, "I haven't missed you, Vidal. Hell, I haven't spared you a god damned thought. If you are anything besides helpful with this investigation, if you lie to me or my crew, if you step so much as a fucking toe out of line, I promise I will kill you myself."

I jabbed my gun against his ribs. "Understood?"

Vidal wheezed and nodded. Much to my irritation, he was still smiling at me.

"Understood, Ry— Pathfinder."

"Peachy," I snapped, sliding my gun back into its place at my side. "Send me the coordinates for the apartment. My people and I will set up there. Meet us there this afternoon."

I turned on my heels to leave and pretended I couldn't hear him when he said, "It's a date."

I left the room and kept walking. Every part of me wanted to put as much distance as possible between myself and Vidal as possible.

Vetra and Scott rushed to keep up with me as I marched out of the bar.

"Is he still alive?" Vetra asked me.

I glowered at her. "For now."

She looked at my brother meaningfully and cleared her throat. He rolled his eyes and silently transferred her credits from his omnitool. I snorted. The two of them had a long-running series of ongoing bets — ongoing bets that Scott was losing dismally.

Vetra ruffled Scott's hair and ignored his pout. "What's the next move?"

"We set up in an apartment down here in the slums and start looking for leads."

"And the Charlatan?" Scott asked, his voice still sour after his loss.

My omnitool chimed yet again.

—

 _To: Sara Ryder_

 _From: Reyes Vidal_

 _Attached the coordinates for the apartment. See you there._

—


End file.
